


i see the light

by AJ_Hepburn



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, El is a princess, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, I'll add characters as they appear - Freeform, Literally And Figuratively, Mike is a baker, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Yeah you read that right, get ready for a motherfuckin TRIP, he begrudgingly agrees to assist, she needs help, the slowest of burns, these two don't love each other on sight can you believe, this is going to be such a fun journey though, wow look at that I started another multi-chapter work!, y'all i'm so excited for this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-25 06:01:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16655563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AJ_Hepburn/pseuds/AJ_Hepburn
Summary: Princess Eleanor—rightful heir to the kingdom of Mirkwood—is on the run. After narrowly escaping an assassination attempt on her life, she runs away to seek refuge with King Hopper, the kind ruler of a neighboring kingdom. As El begins her dangerous journey, she begrudgingly teams up with Mike—a local whose life she's unintentionally just crashed into. Though Mike’s distrust and revulsion of all royals becomes apparent quickly, and despite their mutual loathing, the two team up in order to get to the safety of King Hopper’s kingdom before it’s too late. Along the journey, Mike and Princess Eleanor must find ways to manage their hatred and disagreement in order to survive the threat of capture and potential execution.





	i see the light

“Get up! Get up, child!”

“Mmmm…five more minutes…”

“Get  _ up _ Jane, we have to leave  _ now _ !”

The use of her real name stirs her awake more than the rough shoving and shaking that’s exploded into her previously dreamy state. No one  _ ever _ calls her that unless she’s doing official duties, and even then, Miss Florence only uses it when El’s in  _ particular _ trouble.

“W-What…?” El mumbles, her voice thick with sleep.

“They’re coming for you, we need to get you out now!” Miss Florence says, her words slipping through El’s dazed mind with the impact of a feather. She barely has time to blink awake before the handmaiden is pulling her up quickly by the arm, ripping her from sleep and yanking El out of her small four-poster bed with a surprising amount of strength for a woman Florence’s age.

Her mind lagging and her body feeling as if it’s been drenched in ice water, El gets to her feet; her silk nightgown falling swiftly to her ankles. Her room is drafty, a chill washing in through the open window on the far side near the vanity, only lit by the burning candle held in Florence’s shaking grip. El shivers as fear floods her body, a rush of adrenaline pounding through her.

“Florence, what’s going on? Who’s coming?” El urges, her eyes heavy but wide.

But before she can get an answer, the clanking of armor begins sounding down the hallway, nearing closer by the second. El feels Florence clasp a hand on her shoulder, her nails digging through the thin fabric.

“Go! Grab your shoes and cloak,” the older woman says, yanking El to the far side of the room where a stash of clothing has been unloaded. “I’m afraid you won’t have time for anything else, child, we need to go now.”

A dozen thoughts rush through El’s mind as she follows Florence’s orders, scrambling to the basket and pulling out the first shoes she can find before draping a thick, dark velvet red cloak over her shoulders— _ Are we under siege? Are the people rebelling? Is he dead? _ —but there is no time to think clearly enough to find answers, for the handmaiden is already clasping onto her, pulling her towards the vanity.

Her heart pounding and stomach churning, El allows herself to be guided towards the secret door—the one hidden behind the vast mirror and known only by El herself and the close servants of the castle. 

“ _ Quickly _ , sweetheart, through here!” Florence whispers as she jerks the door open, dust flying out from the cracks and rats scratching away into the darkness. The shouts and grunts from guards become louder with each frantic second that passes by, and though El’s ears are swimming, though her heart is pounding so hard that it encapsulates her every sense, she can just vaguely make out hurried whispers as they draw nearer. 

Without a moment’s hesitation she rushes through the secret door, Miss Florence following her close behind and providing the only light in the dim corridor. Heart racing, El turns and together they heave the door shut, their nails digging into the concrete of the harsh walling. 

Not a moment later, El hears the shouts fill her bedroom, muffled only by the thin layer the secret door provides. She wants to stop, wants to  _ hear _ what they’re saying. She needs to  _ know _ what’s going on. But Miss Florence has her in a vice-like grip once more, and begins pulling El down the narrow, abandoned corridor.

“Dear child, I’m so sorry,” she says in a catch of breath. Her voice wavers like she’s holding back a sob and El feels her heart fall to her feet. “I’m so sorry but it’s happening. It’s happening now and—”

“Florence,  _ what  _ is happening?” El begs, her lungs aching from the rapid change of pace. They’re almost running now, traversing and navigating their way down flight after flight of stairs that look like they haven’t been used in over a decade. “What’s going on? W-Why are the guards coming for me?”

They land on a platform, hands clasped firmly together now. Without stopping, they rush forward, El’s cloak sliding around on the dusty concrete castle floor. Her sense of direction is thrown, but by the swift catches of moonlight they pass through the small windows of the corridor, El realizes they  _ must _ be heading down the South Tower, out towards the stables.

“My dear,” Miss Florence pants, her words coming out choppy and fearful. She squeezes El’s hand. “It is your twenty-first birthday today.” They slide around a corner, the small candle in Florence’s hand trembling with every step that they take. 

El’s eyes widen as they run. She’d forgotten in the haste of the evening—or morning perhaps—that indeed, she was now twenty-one years old. 

Of age and eligibility to take her place as Queen. 

Florence continues on, panting. “He…” she gasps. “Your stepfather…he is no longer first-in-line. His…his right to the crown…was forfeited…the moment the clock struck midnight. He—” 

She stops short as they come upon an empty wall. El bends at the waist, hands on her knees, the hood of her cloak falling heavily over her shoulder as she breathes hard, trying to get as much air as possible into her lungs before they have to start running once more.

Miss Florence holds the candle up close to the blank wall, appearing to look for some sort of invisible marker or indicator of something. She continues speaking, though not sparing a moment to glance back at El.

“He…” she’s breathing hard, worryingly so. “He does not wish to give the throne up to you, child. I overheard the guards—” Florence knocks thrice on the top corner of the wall. “I heard them speaking of…an assassination, an attempt on your life. To…” She pauses, turning to face El, who feels all the blood rush down to her toes. Florence is looking at her with so much sadness, so much pity. The corners of her lips pull down and her chin wobbles slightly. “To kill you. So that he can… _ maintain _ his place and end your bloodline.” 

El’s eyebrows jump up to her forehead, her fingers wrapping around the edges of her cloak as a rush of cold air settles itself under her skin. 

_ Assassination.  _

_ Kill. _

The knowledge that her stepfather, presently reigning King Martin—the coldest, harshest person she has ever known—is willing to take things to a fatal level just to keep his place on the throne shoots itself into her heart with an  _ unyielding _ force, knocking her reality off-kilter and stunning her to the point of silence.

Her chest heaves, breaths shorten, and the world fades away as she realizes what is going on, as her brain wraps around the truth of what is happening. Florence, her dearest, oldest companion—second in trust only to her late mother—is helping her escape execution. Helping her leave the tyranny. Helping her survive.

El’s eyes dart up, looking deeply at the woman who is risking so much—risking everything really—just to help her. Her jaw drops open, but words fail her. There isn’t enough time in the world to communicate the gratitude and love and appreciation she feels rush through her. There is especially not enough time now. 

El clutches her cloak tighter, fingers white.

All of a sudden, a series of three knocks resound from beyond the seemingly unmarked wall, and with a shove and a familiar grunt, a hidden door is revealed, swinging open slowly and scraping against the concrete floor. 

El squints through the sudden flash of light at the figure on the other side of the door. He’s huge, bigger than any man she’s seen before and intimidating as hell. But as she blinks, a grin crawls up El’s face. She’d know him anywhere.

“There you  _ are _ , Benjamin, you said you’d be here on time!” Florence scolds, blowing out the candle and nudging El’s shoulder forward into the torch-lit hallway. She stumbles a bit, tripping over the skirt of her nightgown swaying at her feet.

“Sorry,” Benny grunts, dragging a hand through his tough beard and ushering the two of them out. “Took me a minute to get past the guards. They blocked off the kitchen and sealed the back gate.” 

As El steps out into the light, she feels another rush of gratitude. The only man in the entire kingdom of Mirkwood that she trusts, of  _ course _ Benny would be in cahoots with Florence in order to get El out and keep her safe. Too many times had she snuck down to the kitchen to swipe some goodies that he’d cooked up. Too often had she listened with rapt attention to his dazzling stories of war and bravery and love. A good man through and through, and only continuing to prove himself more in this time of crisis. 

Without saying any more, Benny guides them up the hallway, walking quicker than the two of them due to his massive size and hastened gait. 

They’re on the bottom floor of the castle now, El’s sure of it. The secret passage must have dropped them straight down and to the left, leading towards the stables and the back garden of the castle. El’s heart is hammering, her pulse off the deep end as they wind their way through hallway after hallway, up and down both familiar and vague corridors.

_ Where are they going? What is the end goal? _

“How are you, hon’?” Benny asks El, breaking her out of her thoughts. Though it’s a direct question, he’s not looking at her, instead opting to scan the hall and then peer around the corner, assuring that it’s safe for them to walk freely. 

“I-I don’t know,” El breathes out, and she’s shocked to hear the fear in her voice. She doesn’t feel it right now, she doesn’t really feel…anything at all except the urgency to  _ keep moving _ .

Benny doesn’t miss a beat. “You’ll be okay. We’re going to the stables to get some horses and get outta this joint. With any luck we’ll— _ shhhhit! _ ” He swears all of a sudden, swinging back and slamming his arm across El’s chest, pushing her back into the wall with a force that knocks the wind right out of her. Florence follows his lead and hustles to keep out of sight.

They’re in a corner just under the the shadows, barely hidden. Holding her breath, El listens wide-eyed for the sounds of the guards. She listens for the clanking of armor, the shrill gliding of metal-on-metal. But instead, to her horror, she hears  _ him _ . 

“I want her found at once. She’s an unarmed, idiot  _ girl _ for god sake, she can’t be that  _ hard  _ to find!” El’s stepfather roars, anger and intent to kill laced through each word spoken. She can’t see him, for he hasn’t turned the corner yet, but the sound of his voice rings through her ears, and her shoulders tense instinctively.

“Yessir, we’ve cleared the South Tower and are expanding the search throughout the rest of the castle. Guards are searching staff rooms and all spare areas as well.” The robotic voice of a guard replies, reciting information like a recipe he’d known by heart. “We’ve also sealed the stables, so that she cannot escape with any of the horses or supplies.”

El hears a soft groan to her right and looks up to see Benny’s face screw up, his eyebrows furled together and mouth pinched in a frown. Her own face slacks at the words from the guard but she’s careful to keep herself composed, to not let the anxious knot in her stomach take hold of her heart. But it isn’t easy, considering the fact that whatever plan they’d had just blew up in their faces.

“Good,” the King goes on, and El can hear the malice in his tone. She can almost  _ see _ his expression in her mind. Tight, dark eyes boring down. Brows pulled together in a permanent glare and frown so pronounced you’d wonder if he’d ever smiled in his life. 

Daunting. Unstoppable. King.

“I want the little brat brought to my study when you find her, and call Macarthur as well,” he says to the guard. “Have him bring his tools.”

A beat passes in which no one says anything; the air dead and silent as El holds her breath, waiting for the guard to say something,  _ anything _ . For she knows who Macarthur is and what he does and she prays that this guard will speak up for her, or at least  _ question _ why’d she deserve such a fate. 

The guard’s tone is quiet and resolute when he finally speaks, and El’s eyes widen. “…Yes, your highness. I-I’ll go get him now.”

“Good. Within the hour. I want her in custody.” 

A pair of footsteps turn on their spots and echo down the corridor, away from where El, Benny, and Florence are hidden by shadows, and a unified breath of relief is released by the latter two as the threat fades away. But El can’t breathe. She can’t even move.

“They’re going to t-torture me,” she gasps, eyes wide and unblinking as she stares out. “Before they kill me, they’re going to  _ torture _ me.”

But the reassurance she seeks doesn’t come, for Benny and Florence are whispering to one another in harsh tones, trying to figure out a new plan, completely unaware of El’s panicked realization.

“The stables are not a  _ choice  _ anymore, Flo!” Benny urges, his huge hands waving about.

“Well what other options do we  _ have _ ? And I’ve told you,  _ don’t _ call me that, sir.” 

He ignores her. “Through the garden could work but—”

Florence scoffs, throwing her hands up in exasperation, “But how will we get her past the wall? The gate will surely be guarded and there’s no other—”

“My mother’s tree,” El says, the words slipping out of their own accord, feeling more like air than an actual idea. “I-I know how to climb it. The branches stretch over the castle wall.”

Benny and Florence glance at one another, sharing a nervous look. 

Miss Florence steps forward, her wrinkled hands grabbing onto El’s shaking ones. “Are you sure, child.  _ Sure _ that you can make it over? Do the branches on the other side even hit the ground?”

But there is no time to question any further, for the sound of doors slamming open fill the corridor, and before any of them have time to think, they’re running off down the hall, out towards the garden. El’s cloak is heavy, and while it slows her down a bit, it does keep her warm from the sudden flush of cold air washing over her as they sprint outside.

The night is dark but the sky is bright, lit with stars that seem almost inappropriate for the situation. Blood rushes through El’s ears as they run, hand clasped with Florence’s own and Benny taking the lead. 

Once, the garden had been a wonderful, adventurous world. Huge hedges, gargantuan flowers, odd trees and shaped ferns. Nature of every size and color filling her world with excitement. It had been somewhere to discover new things and travel to faraway places without really going anywhere. Now, though…now it is a battleground. And El is fighting to survive.

Together they dash past overgrown bushes and spots of dead, dry land—long forgotten in the time of this new regime. El’s heart hammers against her ribs as they go, sweat perspiring against her brow and feet aching from the rough terrain. She wants to stop and breathe, wants to stop and  _ think _ , but she knows there is no time—the guards could be right on her tail for all she knows.

Then, before she’s even aware that it’s happened, they come upon the spot she once knew so well.

“Here!” El whispers, breath visible in the chilly night air.

Huge, foreboding branches stretch up and out as far as she can see in the dark lighting; the massive trunk rests just against the lining of the castle wall, curved into it’s side. The leaves had fallen off with the turn of the weather, but even now she can spot small buds beginning to sprout with the spring season. New life in such a dark place. And just barely visible around the side, a small heart carved out with the initials  _ T+E _ , resting at a child’s height.

El stares up at her mother’s tree, her blood racing and head throbbing. Every fiber of her being is alight, sparked by panic and fear and dread. She turns to her friends after a beat, panting.

“Florence, you go first. It’s…it’s not so difficult, just look for the knobs in the trunk and—”

But Miss Florence is gazing at her now with tears in her eyes, her mouth turned down in a frown and her brow crumpled. El blinks, and turns to Benny. His eyes are on the ground, head hung and chin wobbling, wide shoulders caved inwards.

El frowns, her chest still heaving. “W-What’s…what’s wrong?”

It’s a stupid question, and she knows it. A better one might be what’s  _ right? _ But there’s no time to think about that. 

A pregnant pause passes in which El feels a shift in the air, a change she does not want, a new reality too daunting to face. Then, tears now streaming down her aged face, Florence steps forward, hands outstretched.

“Child…” she says, and El’s shoulders tense. She knows what’s coming but she cannot stop it. 

Florence reaches out and straightens El’s cloak, rubbing her hands gently up and down her shoulders, her face shining in the moonlight.

“My dear,” her voice cracks as deeply as El’s heart. “Benjamin and I…we…we cannot come with you.”  Unbridled panic crashes down and El’s mouth drops open, instantly ready to argue, but Miss Florence goes on. “I’m much too old to travel without a horse, and Benjamin has his family relying on him. No, child, for us this is…this is it.”

“But—”

“No, my dear, I won’t hear it. There is not enough time—” El’s eyes blur,  _ when did she start crying? _ “—But you need to listen closely, we only have a moment more.”

Benny steps closer now, running a strong hand over his face and grunting in an attempt to clear his throat. El’s still frozen, her mind racing.

“You need to get to Hawkins. The neighboring kingdom,” he grunts. “It’s far but I know you can do it. Stay hidden, travel silently—”

“Remember the maps we studied in our lessons. Only trust those your mother would!” Florence cuts in. “And do  _ not _ tell them who you are. I…” she trails off, her eyes falling from El’s gaze. “I didn’t tell you this, I-I knew it would only upset you. But…the people…you…you’re not  _ favored  _ by them, so to say.”

El frowns, shaking her head. “Favored? What—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Benny goes on, looking over his shoulder and back to her once more. “Don’t draw attention. And take this,” he pulls a small bag from his pocket and shoves it into her shaking grip. “That should buy you enough food for the journey.”

El drops her gaze to the bag, confused and uncertain. She has a hundred questions. Hell, maybe a  _ thousand _ , but the adrenaline is rushing and she knows she needs to go  _ now. _

“W-What…” she starts, and is surprised to hear the edge in her tone. “What do I do when I get to Hawkins?”

Florence drops her mouth to speak, but before she can say anything, voices begin sounding off behind them. Loud, angry voices crying out to  _ check the garden! _

Benny shoves El forward to the tree and she gets the hint at once, her body moving faster than her mind. She slides the strings of the bag around her wrist and spins around, her feet moving automatically to the first knob, her hands reaching up to grasp the branches.

“Asylum!” Benny whispers up to her. “Ask to be taken to King Hopper! Ask him to grant you asylum!”

El’s hands, slippery with sweat from all the running, hold tight to the rough bark of the branches. She’s sobbing but she can’t quite feel it, her face wet, yet numb and unmoving.

“King Hopper,” she gasps to herself, feet finding the next knob and hands following suit with branch after branch. “Asylum.”

“We’ll draw them off, dear! Tell them you went the other way!” Florence cries, and El can  _ see _ her broken face in her mind.

She wants to  _ stop _ , wants to  _ think _ , wants them to come with her. She can’t do this  _ alone _ .

Her climbing is frantic, uncoordinated. Hands clasping anywhere they can reach, feet desperately holding onto the divots and bumps of the tree trunk. Her cloak gets caught occasionally on branches, but El just yanks it up, unwilling to stop moving. The shouts from just beyond the garden are growing louder, and though she doesn’t have time to look down, she knows she’s easily ten feet above the ground this point, nearing the edge of the castle wall.

Heart racing, blood both pounding in her ears and dripping down her raw, scratched up palms, she climbs higher, trying to keep her panic at bay and to remember what Benny and Florence told her.

_ Run. Hide. Asylum. _

She reaches the top of the wall, swinging her legs over first and stopping to breathe—just for a moment, just long enough to look over the side. To acknowledge that this is  _ it. _ The end of the only life she’d ever known.

“Good luck, princess.”

She doesn’t know who says it, but it’s the last thing she hears before throwing her arms up once more, grasping onto the overstretching branch and letting herself hang down.

Instantly, she knows it’s too much. She feels her muscles  _ burning _ , begging her to let go and take a breath. But she can’t. It’s too far of a drop and her weight doesn’t pull the branch down as much as she needs it to, even with her heavy cloak.

_ Further down. Thin section of the branch. Impacted by weight. _

Using a strength she does not know the origin of, El slowly shimmies her hands down the branch, trying  _ desperately _ to use her imagination and pretend it’s simply like the games she used to play as a child. Swinging from one branch to another like a monkey. Strong and fast and  _ unafraid _ .

One at a time, her hands move down, the branch bending as she goes, lowering her closer to the ground. 

El’s heart rate is flying, sweat beading her brow and dripping down her face. But she keeps going. Keeps moving, keeps her body swinging and sliding down the branch until all of a sudden—her hands lose their grip and she’s falling.

“ _ Shit, _ ” she swears, and her body lands with an unceremonious  _ thud _ . 

Her arms are aching, numb with exhaustion and unable to move more than an inch upwards, but they thank her endlessly for letting go of the branch. Blood is pooling on her palms as well, she knows it, but there’s no time to think about it.

_ Run. Hide. Asylum. _

Scrambling to her feet, El propels herself forward, her feet sliding through the leaves as she darts off into the night. Her cloak flies behind her as she runs, and though it’s entire purpose is to keep her warm, nothing stops the chill of the night air from prickling at her exposed skin. 

_ Such an idiot.  _ She thinks.  _ A thin nightgown on such a cold night. _

El darts past tree after tree, unsure of where she is but fully aware that she needs to get as far away from the castle as possible.

_ Run. Hide. Asylum. _

Over thick roots, under fallen logs, past bushes and branches and nests.

_ Run. Hide. Asylum. _

Rounding corners; heart racing, feet throbbing, hair flying.

_ Run. Hide. Asylum. _

_ Run. Hide. Asylum. _

_ Run. Hide. Asy— _

**_SMACK!_ **

In a flash, El’s on the ground, her chest heaving and forehead smarting from an unknown blunt force. For a moment she just lays there on her back, body paralyzed with exhaustion, head swimming and stars dancing in her eyes. She groans, her brow furrowing and hand sliding up to hold her forehead.

_ What the hell…? _

“Fuck!” A voice exclaims. “Watch where you’re going!”

El rolls a bit on her side, vision blurry and limbs aching. Her hair is splayed out around her, small pieces sticking to the sweat on her forehead.

“What…?” She groans, positively unaware of what just happened.

“Maybe instead of  _ sprinting _ around at full force, you should think to  _ look _ out for people who are minding their own business!” The voice says, and this time El can sense that it’s coming from above her.

She blinks slowly in the night air, her vision becoming clearer with the sudden glow of a torch lighting the forest. Her shaking palm still rubbing at the newfound bump swelling on her forehead, El gazes up, her heart constricting at the sight of a  _ man _ staring down at her.

Instantly she scrambles back, a new wave of adrenaline shooting down her spine.

“S-Stay back!” She cries quickly, voice trembling. El clambers to her feet, pushing up from the ground and onto her shaking legs.

The man throws a hand up and scoffs, taking a step back from her as well. “Stay back?! You’re the one who  _ crashed _ into  _ me _ !” 

He’s tall, and though El can’t see much—even with the glow of the torch—she can tell he’s young. Not much older than she if she had to throw out a guess.

A beat passes in which they just stare at one another, neither sure what the other’s moves will be. El takes this time to catch her breath, her heart positively  _ burning _ in her chest. The man is looking at her, scanning her up and down, though El can’t imagine he can see much in the poor lighting. 

“What the hell are you doing so far from your camp?” He asks finally, breaking the silence. 

El frowns, confused. She pulls the cloak tighter around her shoulders, reaching a hand to rub at the sore spot on her forehead once more. He notices. 

“Shit, is your head bleeding?”

But El’s mind is still gone, still wrapped up in her escape. Absentmindedly, she peers down at her palms to see that yes, they are bleeding. Her head though, she doesn’t know about that. Perhaps she rubbed the blood from her palms onto her forehead?

“I…” She starts, breathing hard. “M-My hands are. I had to…um…what camp?” The question falls from her lips of their own volition; she didn’t even know she was wondering about it until the words came out.  

He’s just staring at her though, unsure what to make of her. In the back of her mind, El knows it’s a strange sight. She cannot  _ imagine _ how she looks right now, all sweaty and underdressed and frantic; probably crazed or dangerous-looking from an outsider’s perspective. Not someone you’d want to talk to in the woods in the middle of the night,  _ that’s _ for sure.

Nevertheless, the man steps forward, and El gets a better look. Dark hair, sharp jaw, and prominent cheekbones stand out in the glow of the flame. Out of the corner of her eye she spots a small cart she hadn’t noticed before, a donkey attached (and seemingly unamused by the sudden stop).

He looks at her oddly, holding the torch out further to get a better look at her. “Aren’t you part of the—”

But he doesn’t get to finish his question, for at that moment shouts and cries begin echoing down the forest, bouncing off the trees and ringing in their ears.

_ “Fan out, hit all the bases and check behind the trees!” _ The voices yell, aggressive and threatening and too familiar. El’s heart drops again, her face flushing ice cold, stomach flipping.

The man turns towards the voices as they yell out, spinning around with a startled jump and bringing the torch up.

“What the f—” He says at the same moment that El hisses, “ _ Shit!” _

For a beat El’s mind runs through her options, frantically trying to choose what to do with only moments remaining before the guards show up.

She could keep running, go as far as she can as fast as she can, but the guards have horses and more resources than she does, so she knows it’s not a choice. 

She could try to hide by climbing up another tree, look to find one that’s easy enough and just go as fast as possible—praying that the guards don’t look up, but her palms are still stinging and the ache in her arms is not fading away, so that’s not an option either. 

El looks forward, at the stranger in front of her, turned toward the sound of rushing voices and calls, and knows what she has to do—or what she has to  _ try _ to do. There isn’t enough time to run or hide or heed any of Florence’s warnings. She doesn’t know who this man is, but he’s her only hope.

Breathing hard, body shaking with terror, she bites her lip and steps forward.

“ _ Help me _ ,” she cries, grabbing the man by the arm. He spins to face her and she can see concern take over his stoic features. His eyes are dark, brow pinched as he looks her up and down. “ _ Please! _ ” She begs, “They’re after me and…and I didn’t  _ do _ anything but they’ll  _ kill  _ me if they find me,  _ please _ help me!”

He looks down at her, mouth dropped open. “What? Who?” He asks, visibly confused. “Who’s after you?” 

“The guards! The king! Everyone, but I-I didn’t do any…” she trails off, eyes darting out to the forest, where the shouts are becoming louder. “…Just  _ please _ , help me hide somewhere!”

His eyes are dark and cloudy and El can see he’s contemplating the situation, but there isn’t  _ time _ to wonder, there isn’t  _ time _ to weigh the options. She needs to act  _ now _ .

The  _ thump _ of horses running through leaves threads in and out of her hearing, and El turns towards the sound, sure that this is it. She’s a goner. Even if she runs now, it’s too late. Everything Florence and Benny had done was for nothing because she couldn’t make it. She—

“Fine.”

El snaps her eyes up to his, and is shocked to see the confirmation in his gaze. Hard and daunting, yes, but unflinchingly resolute.

Before she can say anything, he’s got his hand on her upper arm, fingers wrapped around her bicep through the cloak and is pulling her forward. Moving with an almost practiced ease, he guides her to his cart—a simple wooden two-wheeled open back with rails on both sides and an attachment fastened to the donkey in front—and begins moving things around. From the glow of the torch she can see large sacks organized around the bed of the cart, filled to the brim with what appears to be…baking materials. Flour, different sugars, eggs, and crates  _ full _ of fresh bread and pastries litter the cart, interspersed by piles upon piles of hay.

The man lets go of her arm and shoves the torch into her grasp before clambering forward to shove items out of the way, pushing the food crates all the way to the right and laying the sacks up against them, shoving the hay to the left in a taller pile than was before.

He turns to her, hands on hips. “Get in,” he says, and El frowns, tilting her head.

“Get…in?” She asks. 

He scoffs, looking back behind her and throwing a hand up. “Look, they’re going to be here any second, do you want me to explain everything or do you just want to take the help I’m offering before it’s too late?”

It’s rude and uncalled for, but he’s right. There’s not enough time. 

El says nothing more, just passes him back the torch and rolls her eyes, lifting up the skirt of her nightgown and using her other hand to climb into the bed of the cart. She sits on her knees and pulls the cloak up off the forest floor, wrapping it around her shoulders and looking at the man with a raised eyebrow to say,  _ what now? _

He’s frowning now, in the glow of the torch, dark eyes pinched and focused on her cloak. Something’s running through his mind, she can tell, but he doesn’t appear to think too hard on it, for his gaze snaps up to hers once more in a flash.

“Get under the hay and don’t say  _ anything _ . I’ll do the talking.”

El nods and moves over to the left side of the cart, using her slashed palms to lift up the hay and wriggle underneath. Pulling the hood of her cloak over her head and curling into a ball, she drags as much hay as she can on top of herself, praying that it shields her from view. She then stops moving completely, freezing to catch her breath and to settle in, sending up a prayer to whoever may be listening that this will work. Whatever  _ this _ is. As she stops moving, however, El feels more rustling overhead, the hay shifting around and piling higher on top of her hidden form. 

_ The man must be fixing it, adjusting it to look inconspicuous, _ she thinks and is grateful—despite his rude tone from before.

For a moment everything falls silent, save for El’s heartbeat pounding louder than anything imaginable. Then, a jerk rocks her body and she feels the cart start to move, the donkey braying roughly to itself but pulling forward nonetheless. Sounds are muffled from the layers of hay piled above her, but the voices of the guards cannot be drowned out. They’re getting nearer, and she knows it.

She lays quietly, fingers squeezed so tightly into the fabric of her cloak she feels her nails digging into her already aching palms. The hay is itchy, poking and prodding at her body, but she doesn’t have time to fret over such small things. Trying to settle her breathing, El shuts her eyes and counts quietly to herself, trying to dissociate and push the perilous situation out of her mind.

_ One, two, three—run, hide, asylum—four, five, six—get out now—seven, eight, nine—find King Hopper—ten, ele—  _

“Halt! Stop there!” A voice shouts, and El’s eyes snap open, her heart dropping below sea level. The cart rears to a stop and El’s body slides backwards a bit with the sudden force. A beat passes in which the donkey cries out, unhappy once more at the second unplanned stop of the night.

“Good evening, officer—or I guess good morning. Do you need something?” 

It’s the man speaking, and though the sounds are muffled from the hay, El can sense the confidence in his voice, the unwavering surety of his tone, like he’s done this before. She holds her breath nonetheless.

“State your business!”

“Well hello to you too,” he cracks. “Just making my morning deliveries. I—”  

“What are you doing out this late so close to the castle?” The guard interrupts, his horse stomping loudly around the leaves of the forest, circling the cart. El stares ahead into the hay, remaining as still as possible.

“…Making my deliveries,” the man answers again, voice following the guard’s movements, dripping with attitude. “Bread only stays fresh so long. Y’have to drop them off early in the morning when they’re just out so that they last during the day.”

“You’re delivering to the castle?” The guard barks in question.

“Well, I already delivered, but yes. I bake specialty pastries for the head royal cook to purchase.”

El’s eyes widen, her mouth dropping open.  _ Benny. _

“And why are you out here in the forest rather than travelling on the established delivery route?” He asks.

At this there is an uncomfortable pause, and El can hear the man take a few steps backwards, leaning against the rail of the cart, right by where El’s head is hidden just below the hay.

“I, uhh…” he starts, but does not finish, for at that moment, the rushing of leaves and clopping of hooves drown him out. 

“Who’s this?” A new voice roars, and though she can’t see, El knows another guard has just pulled up. Her heart rate jumps, fear flooding her system.

“Baker for the castle,” the other guard answers, his voice tight. “Just finished delivering.”

“Baker, huh?” The clearly superior guard asks. “Well, tell me baker, have you seen anyone suspicious running around out here?” 

The man is quick to answer. 

“Suspicious? What do you mean?” He asks, laying on just the right amount of curiosity mixed with seemingly-genuine ignorance. “Is there a problem?” 

El holds her breath, keeping her limbs as still as possible.

“An active threat to the crown escaped tonight.” The first guard answers, “She is a top wanted person-of-interest and needs to be found at once and safely brought into custody.”

Tears form at the corners of El’s eyes. It’s  _ her _ , she’s the  _ top wanted criminal  _ for absolutely  _ no reason.  _

The man laughs, having expected this. “ _ She? _ How much of a threat could a girl be?”

The guards continue to circle the cart, their voices echoing through the forest. El’s heart drops.

“Considering  _ she _ tried to kill the king tonight, and the fact that  _ she _ is the  _ princess _ , we have deemed that she is an active and dangerous threat. Now, baker, have you seen anyone suspicious running around tonight?”

El’s eyes are so wide underneath the mountain of hay that they begin to sting. 

_ Kill the king?! _

Is this the lie that Florence had said made her unfavored by the people of the kingdom? Is this what will become of her, of her legacy?

A horse whinnies in the silence, and El realizes over her own shock that the man still hasn’t answered. She curses herself, fully knowing why.

The word  _ princess _ hangs in the air. Even though she purposely didn’t tell him who she was before, he sure as hell knows now. 

There’s a long pause in which only the shuffle of hooves can be discerned over the sound of El’s own heartbeat. Her breathing has nearly stopped completely, her body trembling minutely as she waits for the man to respond,  _ praying _ that he won’t sell her out. 

Deep down, she knows that he will though. She knows that no one would knowingly harbor someone of her criminal caliber, not with what could happen to them, and especially since she (literally) ran into him only minutes before. He doesn’t know her. Doesn’t understand the situation. He has no reason to hide her, or trust her, or believe that she is innocent.

This is it. She’s done.

But instead, after a pause just a bit too long to be ingenuine, El hears the man speak up.

“…T-The  _ princess _ ?!” He rasps, and El can practically see his eyes bulge. “N-No, I definitely haven’t seen the  _ princess _ running around out here.”

If it was possible for her heart to drop any further, it’d fall off the face of the earth.

“Are you sure?” The second guard asks, voice strong and questioning.

The man is quicker this time, “Am I  _ sure _ ? Sure that I haven’t seen a fucking  _ princess _ in the middle of the woods this early in the morning? Yeah, yeah I’m pretty sure.” His voice is so strong and unwavering that for a moment, even El believes him.

Silence follows for a brief second after this where El thinks the guards may start questioning him further. But instead, she hears them both dismount their horses, their armor clanking and scraping as they go.

“Very well, baker. You may be on your way,” the first guard says, and El lets out a minute breath. “But…”

They walk closer to the cart, their steps shuffling forward dangerously. 

“…We’ll be needing to confiscate your belongings. For safety purposes of course.”

The man scoffs, and El curls in closer on herself, body tense and eyes wide.

“ _ Confiscate _ ?” He cries. “What the hell do you mean by that?”

From what she can hear, the guards are at the base of the cart, peering in. El stays as frozen as possible, praying that she is fully hidden from view under the hay.

“Looks to me like you have an…excess of supplies back here. Y’Really need that much bread? That much sugar, especially when it’s in such high demand?” The guard says.

“Considering I’m a  _ baker _ by trade, yes, I’d say I need the supplies that I have,” the man scoffs, and El can hear the attitude—and slight panic—in his voice.

“Hmm…I don’t think so. I think maybe we should help him out. Don’t you think?”

“I think so.”

And all of a sudden a massive weight is dropped on the hay laying over El’s thigh. It takes everything in her to stop from crying out in shock, but she just barely manages to by biting her tongue. A beat passes, and then another weight is dropped, this time where her shoulder is hidden. White powder spills down through the hay, landing on the flooring by El’s head. 

Squinting her eyes through the darkness, she can just barely tell that it’s not sugar, but flour. Flour from the sacks undoubtedly being thrown on top of her.

The sound of wooden crates scraping against one another echoes through the forest over the cries of the man protesting. There is rapid shifting in the cart—sacks of flour being thrown out of the way and onto the hay in order for the guards to seize the crates of bread and pastries. 

“What the hell!” The man shouts. “You can’t just take those! I have more deliveries to make all day! A-And those supplies cost me two months worth of work!”

But the guards aren’t listening and don’t care, apparently, just picking and choosing what they want to take and throwing what they don’t onto the pile of hay. If before El couldn’t breathe out of fear, she now can’t breathe from the sheer weight of items being unceremoniously dropped on top of her. Still, she remains quiet.

“I-I’ll make a report! I’ll tell the Captain of the Guard that you unlawfully seized my belongings!” He cries, and El can hear the desperation in his voice.

“The Captain who we’re about to bring all this good food to? You’re going to make a report to him?” One of the guards cracks, causing the other to laugh heartily.

“And the donkey!” The first says. “We’ll take the donkey too. Always need extra help around the castle yard.”

“Oh  _ fuck _ no, you can’t—” The man starts, fury lacing his tone. But he’s abruptly cut off from a resounding  _ smack _ , and El hears a thump hit the forest floor.

“We can’t what?” The guard mocks, and El’s eyes are wide, horrified by their treatment of the man. The donkey brays, and El feels the cart shake as the animal is unlatched from it’s attachment.

The man doesn’t answer. Can’t, maybe.

“Be on your way, baker.” The guard says, “And if you see anyone running about, do not hesitate to turn them in. She may be pretty, and she may be the princess by birth, but she is a  _ liar  _ and a fugitive and has no power in this kingdom anymore.”

El stares ahead at the darkness, stomach churning.

“If you hesitate,” she hears the other threaten. “Or attempt to help her, the consequences  _ will _ be fatal not only for you, but for anyone you have ever  _ spoken _ to. Understand?”

Only a groan is given in response, sounding off from the ground, but it seems enough for the guards. The horses neigh, and El hears a clambering of animals shuffle through the leaves, slowly growing quieter as the night becomes silent once more.

She doesn't know if it’s safe to come out yet. Doesn’t know if she even  _ wants _ to move out from under the hay to see the wreck that the guards undoubtedly left in their wake. 

It’s her fault and she knows it. They wouldn’t have been out in the forest if they weren’t looking for her. This man who’s just saved her from being caught, despite not knowing  _ anything _ about her, has just lost everything. Everything. 

And it’s her fault.

Before she can think to do anything, though, she hears the man get up, groaning as he rises closer to the cart. His voice echoes through the forest, seemingly talking to himself.

“What the  _ hell _ did you just get yourself into, Mike?”

**Author's Note:**

> Get ready for a fuckin' RIDE, this one's going to be good.
> 
> chat with me @janes-mike on tumblr!
> 
> -aj


End file.
